


Australia's Prime Sausage Fingers

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Begging, F/M, Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Size Difference, Size Kink, cock-sized fingers, indifferent Roadhog for the most part, lots of getting moved around by Roadhog's huge fucking hands, the mask stays on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 03:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14845166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Vegemite!Anon asked: Fingers. THICK. Thickkk fucking fingers. Just like Vlad, Jason, Hellboy's left hand, and all those that came before him, one of my ideal scenarios is giving him a bitesized spitfire to stuff his massive fucking fingers into and seem indifferent about. He strikes me as the sorta bloke to not pop a boner while fingering his lady's snatch.A/N: I've got a thing for Roadhog now...





	Australia's Prime Sausage Fingers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vegemite!Anon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Vegemite%21Anon).



Roadhog grumbles and you can feel it between your thighs as his stomach expands under your hips, pushing your ass upwards with each inhale. Your spine bends inward, pushing your meager tits into the surface of the table; elbows aching and breath foggin’ up the wood. He’s got you splayed over his belly and the table in equal parts, but the warmth in your lower body beats the cool unforgiving edge of the table.

“... more, please,” you ask with a bulge in your throat that bellies how little politeness there is left in your tone. The word please, at this point, is just a hollow word because what you really mean is ‘more, NOW’ and Roadhog knows it but couldn’t care less about what you want or don’t want. It’s his mission operandus to be ambivalent during moments like these… as if he’s above it all, and yet he still manages to be accommodating.

You squirm against his hand and guide yourself along his finger until the square-tip bumps your cervix; almost hard enough to satisfy your slightly masochistic tendency to take on too much in the ol’ cunt department.

On the too-short, stitched bedspread, Junkrat is snoring like a two-ton wallaby. The bag of dynamite from yesterday’s blastin’ cushioning his head. The stacked roll makes his singed tuffs hang off the edge of the mattress.

You groan into your forearm and bite at your wrist as Roadhog fingers you slowly. With foggy eyes, you watch Jamison’s throat rattle with each noisy inhale. The snores Junkrat makes while he sleeps muffles your whimpering… not that you need to be quiet - not like you’re sneaking around like some prickly pear in a delicious fruit bowl. Roadhog helped you get off just last week while Junkrat rode you from behind with the enthusiasm and coordination of a Tasmanian devil. Needless to say, you’re all thick as thieves even when the thievery gets a tad wet and slippery.

“No,” you grumble, “that ain’t deep enough.”

Yes, you’re full already, but still, you want more.

Roadhog sighs, as if quietly peeved. He remains silent even when you whine and roll back into him; dragging your insides along that thick finger all by your lonesome.

Quickly, with no warnin’, he cups your ass cheek with four meaty digits, curls his pointer finger into a hook and darts it in and out of your tight, little cunt.

**“Noisy…”** he ventilates with fire in his lungs.

He’s been reading an article on outback regrowth this whole time and barely makes any acknowledgment to you or your pleasure aside from screwing his finger inside you a wee bit harder when you start complaining. It all started with you being too exhausted to sleep - too manic to dismantle scrap without slicing your arms open. Too bored to do anything else but pace, pace and toss yourself on the table where he’d been having a good ol’ cup of tea and readin’ before bed.

Bothering Roadhog with your dramatic and childish antics apparently got your fringe-ripped shorts tugged down - the denim tossed’ in Junkrat’s comatose direction - and an ass cheek slapped red. One cock-sized finger teased you for all of about thirty seconds, just long enough go to get the juices flowing, before you were getting slowly finger fucked into the table with both legs stretched over his belly.

If he thinks one kangaroo-sausage-sized finger was gonna pipe you down, he apparently didn't know you as well as you thought he did. Might be that you’re a tiny thing compared to them, and most, but you’re a glutton for punishment and Roadhog won’t kill you if he adds another finger.

Actually, scratch that previous thought. A wave of thick pleasure makes your heated stomach flutter; telling. You're already halfway towards a spiffy orgasm.

Whimpering and biting your knuckles, you claw at the soft, stained wooden table.

Mako - Roadhog - flips a page on his half-burnt magazine, pinching your inner thigh with a bulbous thumb that just barely drags along your slippery folds, and starts reading under his breath.

You blink through webbed lashes, beyond a little put out that he’s so focused on anything else but your slick cunt right now, and turn your cheek against the wood.

The skinny pyromaniac denting the musky mattress hacks on an obnoxiously loud snore. You eyeball him blurring, moaning and panting, and wonder if he’d wanna join in should he wake up.

Junkrat’s heel kicks in his sleep while your shoulders start to tremble. You gasp, feeling Roadhog’s finger stroke against spongy nerves that light the fuse below your navel. Desperate, nearly there, you work your bony hips back into an indifferent finger and sob into the table.  

Roadhog snorts as you shiver - gooseflesh sprouting up on your skin - as you cum in weak contractions. The sound of his leather mask straps creaking and the pop of his neck tells you he’s glaring where you’ve been watching Junkrat. Naturally, Roadhog smells your thoughts because before you can recover from the rush, he wheezes unhappily and starts stroking your inner walls with deeper, firmer motions.

“Yes,” you breathe; grinning with teeth hooked into your arm and spittle leaking off your lower lip. Don’t stop, you think. If it’s a bit of jealousy or one-upmanship that’ll spark a reaction out of Roadhog then so be it. Beggars can’t be choosers.

Sweat makes his thumb slip between your inner thigh and cunt - makes him readjust his grip and hold your ass tighter.

Like a dingo mid-dream, Junkrat kicks again - twitches - and stretches out in all his lean and lank glory. Chasin’ game and getting belly scratches from saucy junkers with a bad habit of feeding the wildlife most like, but you stretch your arms out along the table and deflate against the new tempo with a languorous smirk.

“Knew you’d come around, Roadie! Keep up the fine work an’...” you tremble as scratchy waves replace numb pleasure, “... ah’ might treat you to ah’ gobbie… maybe…”

Roadhog growls with indifference, but you have a feelin’ he’s starting to stiffen up a little at the talk of blowies. That fat, chunky cock was fun to kiss and suck hickies into, but you’d never get more than the tip in your mouth, nor your cunt for that matter. Even you could admit to that.

“One more,” you demand and nod your cheek into the damp table; nipples aching under your displaced weight.

He never did take to commands very well, even when they came from the boss so why you thought he’d oblige you when ordered there’s no tellin.’

You cast a tear-full and more than just needy look over your shoulder. Your messy hair muddles the view, but there’s enough tangled clumps and gaps in the ruddy strands that you can make out Roadhog’s body language. He’s gone from indifferent to annoyed yet again which is better than nothin’ you suppose but it ain’t ideal.

Once you finish again, you’ll kindly go bonk off like he wants but until then, you ain’t gonna shut up.

“Jus’ a tick more an’ I’ll be flying high, promise… jus’ give me a middle finger an-”

**“Quiet,”** he tells you; filtered-like an’ sounding like he’s been gargling with tar for forty years.

Despite worrying that he’ll throw you off his belly and straight to the floor without the second orgasm he’s indirectly promised, you grin with smug pleasure as he digs fat fingers around your hip and the side of your ass; holding you firm. He pushes you forward, sliding you towards the table until your hip bones bruise on the unfinished edge. Teasing probes against the rigid ring of flesh around your already stretched cunt make you shiver with anticipation. You’ve had two of his fingers inside you before… but that had been his third finger and pinky, and this is…

“Hahhh…” you mewl like a baby bird as he grumbles and grabs the left side of your ass with the vast expanse of his other hand, prying you open with little care to gentility.

He shifts on the floor, and you get pressed harder into the table; like a knife on bone.

You’re entirely bent over the same surface as his Scrapper issue, now forgotten, with your skinny legs splayed over his warm, full belly as he grunts and stretches your cheeks apart; hooking a blunt fingertip under the lip of your slit. It burns… burns so good and the fact that he’s finally put both hands on you - ignoring his wordy articles - makes you grimace through the hot pain.

Might be that you needed some extra grease for this, but you can take it. You’ve managed to consume all but Roadie’s cock which won’t fit no matter how hard you try, and two thick fingers shouldn’t be-

Pain. The word centers in like a live wire where his fingers dig in.

“Wah-“ you were gonna tap out when the burning began to sting like torn flesh, but just as you part your lips for mercy, his middle finger wedges in along his pointer; straightening inside you. A wordless cry leaves your throat, and suddenly, Roadhog is back to flipping the page on his magazine while you're being worked back and forth with two of the most massive fingers in existence.

Might be that one of Roadie’s fingers is only an inch less thick around than Junkrat’s cock which means it feels like you’ve got two adequately sized peckers fucking you into the table… except they ain’t cocks and Roadhog isn’t writhing around in bliss like their owners would be.

While he fingers you with two incredibly girthy digits you start to slobber; body leaking tears, sweat, saliva and now your cunt is dripping with gratitude.

The warm gurgle of Roadhog’s stomach under your clit and inner thighs adds to the heat and burn of his fingers, leaving you fast on the track to pleasure town once again.

That same finger he’d flicked you in the side of the head with that morning, bends and drags along the roof of your cunt like a match to rough rock; starting the fire back up. He’d been annoyed that you’d encouraged Jamison to add one more stick of explosives to the vault door during the heist… but now he’s fucking you with that same finger and you’re licking tears and drool off your lips.

You beg Roadhog for more, and he flips the page of his magazine.

“Why you always gotta act like such a conch? Stop readin’ an’ahhh,” his fingers curl up again; harder but no deeper, “oooh fuck… stop doing that when I’m tryin’ to knock yah! Bloody Kanker...”

**“...”** There’s tension in the silence and you brace yourself instinctively.

Sharply, you gasp as Roadhog jerks his fingers out, leaving your insides gaping for a moment only to clench around nothing in a loathsome press of dull nerves. He ventilates a heavy breath and pulls your ass, one-handed, back over the peak of his belly again You cheek pulls through spit - nails clawing through wood and whine as your belly button dents under your ribs. He drags what feels like his middle finger between his stomach and your folds, nudging your clit.

You sigh at the soft pleasure, lose yourself in the fat swirl of his finger and start blubbering about how ‘he can’t stop’ and if he does, ‘you’ll never make him boomerang pies again.’

Roadhog chuckles darkly, plucks your ass up in both hands again and rocks your hips down until your cunt glides over his protruding navel, pulling you back and forth over the nubby flesh until your keening; nipples tightening as your breasts bounce along the wood grain. He pulls you into his rotund gut before you can cum, then slides your wetness down his belly until your arms are flat on the table again.

He snorts through the rebreather, says something that could be ‘idiot’ or ‘sook’ which nearly gets you spewin’ but you choke softly instead, feeling him pull your cheeks apart. Two meaty fingers wedge in between his stomach and your clit. They pinch, squeeze and rub your clit in tight motions… over and over and over...

Scratchy burns fill your scorched cheeks when his thumb brushes your puckered hole, but he ignores the thick ring of nerves for the wet one below. All the tight muscles in your back and spine relax as you breathe a sigh of relief, not realizing how terrifying the prospect of having Roadhog’s thumb in your ass was until right bloody now.

As his fingers stroke between his stomach and your clit  - combing through wet wrinkled flesh - his thumb nudges sore muscles and delves inside. You stiffen, raise your ass higher and let all the stifled energy leak out your pores.

You half-scream and shake over Roadhog’s gut; strangling this thumb while he works you through echoes of cleansing pleasure.

Junkrat slowly falls off his bed in a string of sleepy, junker gibberish and collapses with his metal leg tangled in the sheets; his cheek flat on the floor. The snoring continues just as Roadhog uses the distraction to delve two damp fingers back inside your cunt, making you lurch and screech and grin. No preamble. No warnin.’ Just two big ol’ fingers fucking you while he massages your scrawny ass.

He watches while you take all that girth, making all sorts of wobbly moans. You know he’s staring because when Roadhog glares at you, or anyone for that matter, they can feel it like radiation rays in the middle of a cloudless salt flat.

The thing about Roadhog is… that he takes a while to warm up, but once he does, there’s no stoppin’ until he’s gotten his revenge and that’ll only end when you're either strung out on endorphin blasts or covered in sticky cum. Either or, you think; grinning madly and fast onward to another orgasm.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from, but FUCK ME, I'm loving me some Roadhog right now. Hope whoever reads this likes it XD and thank you sweet Vegemite!Anon for the character inspiration and generally fun as fuck asks. <3
> 
> Also, thanks Darth Fucamus for looking this little cluster fuck over. Much appreciation.
> 
>  
> 
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